


a knowledge game

by JadeClover



Series: star-hewn colossi [22]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Mutual Seduction for Information
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 12:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11646783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeClover/pseuds/JadeClover
Summary: Once, long before the solar barrier incident, Haggar comes to suspect that Thace's loyalties lie outside the Empire. He does not make it easy to prove, and so she turns to an unconventional means of acquiring information, but Thace is not one to fall for a simple seduction—if she wants to gain, she must also give.Thus, the two of them play a game.





	a knowledge game

**Author's Note:**

> This is strongly based on a dream I had, in which Haggar was seducing Thace to learn his secrets, and Thace decided to seduce her back to learn _her_ secrets. A weird dream, I know, and this is the last thing I ever expected to ship... but I kind of ship it now? Oops? There's a potential for a very interesting dynamic there, in which they're both playing a game with the other and they both know it. I'm kind of tempted to write more.

She goes here with her lord's blessing. That is perhaps the only reason she does. Her emperor's knowledge and acceptance ( _and, at times, his dubious advice on the matter_ ) serves not only to shift the tone of what would otherwise be nigh on betrayal, but also grants her a sense of surety, a decisiveness without which this entire venture would have long ago crumbled in on itself.  
  
As late as it is, she will not be seen in the halls. Long practice has given her confidence of this. With the ease of familiarity, she keys in the override at the lieutenant's door; it slips open and she enters unannounced. This is habit, too—long has she hoped to catch him in the midst of some incriminating act, but never has she been quite so lucky. At her arrival, Thace merely lowers his datapad and nods in greeting. ( _She has not even startled him for many weeks now._ )  
  
The door slips shut behind her.  
  
Thace's quarters are small and bare, modest despite him being a lieutenant of some standing. She longs to search his storage drawers for communication devices and data chips—( _what secrets could be hidden here?_ )—but as ever, she cannot, so instead she stalks toward the bed with a terse order of, "Move aside."  
  
If she is honest, she would have anticipated her clear distaste for this entire affair to render it a moot point. ( _Perhaps it is suspicious that it did not._ ) But Thace only ever seems amused, in that calm, affable way of his, obligingly scooting aside before she throws herself uncomfortably on top of him, which she would have had he not seen fit to move in time. ( _He has learned from experience._ )  
  
Propping herself against the headboard, she folds her arms, a short, tense huff escaping her unbidden.  
  
"Something appears to be troubling you," Thace says. He turns and sets his datapad aside.  
  
A leading comment, perhaps, searching for information? Or merely playing at gentlemanly concern? She does not know which, nor does she care in this moment, though in all honesty she likely should.  
  
"Something is _always_ troubling me," she tells him, and the quirk of his lips appears almost fond. Perhaps it would be if she was not here for the sole purpose of proving him a traitor, and if he did not stand to gain so much in secrets by indulging her so.  
  
"Merely a matter in the labs," she allows, pretending to begrudge it as she offers up a piece to their game. It is not entirely a lie. She meant what she said—that she is always troubled—and if she thinks on it long enough, she can find something that will fit.  
  
"Perhaps you should relax," Thace suggests, his furred ears flicking back, his eyes drifting to hers, and it is a cue. An unspoken cue, that whatever farce they have seen fit to play out should continue, and continue presently.  
  
_Very well._ She is not one to shy from their game.  
  
Tilting her head back against the headboard, she lets out a sigh and sinks until she is lying fully on the bed. He does the same, a mirror of her. Her hood, which she will not remove for anything, not even a complete itinerary of this _traitor's_ activities, offers some measure of shadow in which to hide, but she cannot escape the feeling that Thace's bright eyes—so very close, as it is a narrow bed—see far more than they should. She meets his gaze with a narrowed glare—by all accounts, a textbook Galra threat display—but he merely quirks one ear, amused.  
  
He has learned by now what she will and will not allow. His touch, as ever, is gentle—the slow, wandering trail of his hand along her side. He does seek to relax her, though whether that is an attempt to loosen her tongue, she does not know. It is effective, though—the relaxation. Against all odds, it is.  
  
Through eyes she knows are losing the edge of their glare, she studies him, searches his face. What does he think of this, having her, the Emperor's favorite, infamous and feared, lying in his bed and slowly going pliant under his touch?  
  
( _That is what they call her—the Emperor's favorite. And the druid, the head druid—the Witch. There are more, so many more. Which one does he attach to her in his mind?_ )  
  
( _Is it even one she knows?_ )  
  
He trails his hand over her, slowly coaxing coiled muscles to loosen, the motion repeated over and again, and as he does so he is ever-mindful of the ways in which she does not wish to be touched. She is mindful of the points of his claws and the strength of his limbs and the fact that, when they lay like this, face-to-face, her toes can only ever reach the vicinity of his knees. Whoever he works for would no doubt rejoice at seeing the infamous Witch dead, but despite having her within claws' reach, he will not attempt it. He could not manage it, even if he tried, but she knows he will not.  
  
That is not how their dance works. This is a game of knowledge, at its heart.  
  
On some nights, she will draw him into conversation, about anything, anything at all, just to see what he will give ( _to see what she can take_ ). But other nights, she will not. Other nights, she will simply lie here in silence and let him wonder, let him touch, as if that is the only reason they ever come together like this.  
  
Why does he think she is here? Truly? What images have her hints and misdirections painted in his mind? Is she the Witch, the scientist, wearied after a long day of work and seeking relaxation from unconventional means? Or is she instead a fellow curious mind, more taken with their first, chance discussions of theory than one would expect, come in pursuit of some interest that can no longer be defined as fully intellectual?  
  
Does he suspect? She suspects that he does, and that in turn they suspect suspicion of the other, but they can never be certain with the nature of the game being what it is. So much has gone unsaid, both from her and from him, ideas like bridges spanning a chasm. Rickety, precarious bridges—they cannot trust one another, for all they must pretend to.  
  
( _And isn't is so difficult, isn't it so easy to pretend?_ )  
  
Loosely, almost languid, she tilts her head and blinks at him. "You know, I do truly despise your commander."  
  
The hand at her waist hitches, freezes. It is the ingrained instinct of any good Galra solider—one mustn't speak ill of a commanding officer, even ( _it seems_ ) to one who could have said officer tossed out the airlock if she had half a whim.  
  
Thace's ears flick. "He can be—ah, _trying,_ " he allows. Her lips turn up at the corner—a small victory. But then his gaze brushes over hers for the barest of moments, and he is smiling, too, laughing about something behind his eyes. "I trust you will not tell him I said that."  
  
A fuller, truer smile now, almost enough to show teeth. "Your secrets are safe with me."  
  
The hand resumes its gentle, almost tender ministrations, and she lets herself relax into it. Seeming relaxed—that is the key. It takes what would otherwise be an unbearably tense situation, fraught with high stakes and wary vigilance, and turns it into something casual. Something easy, almost.  
  
Reaching out, she lets her fingertips brush his chest. His armor is gone, discarded long before she arrived; he wears only the thick, black undersuit that is a Galra standard ( _the one so grating to the touch that she designed an entirely new fabric just so her emperor would not have to wear it_ ). She does not let the contact linger long. Beyond the mere sensory, that is how their game works. She is one to take, not to give—but what she does give is precious.  
  
She has dropped hints and toyed with secrets, giving Thace just the motivation he needs to keep playing. What she lets slip cannot harm her or her emperor—she makes sure of this—but so too is she careful that it will _entice_.  
  
The important shipments she lets him learn about have only ever reached their destinations intact, and the sensitive information she has referenced ( _decoys, mostly_ ) has never been accessed by anyone but her. She gives Thace leads, but she follows where they go and though someone, somewhere, is likely receiving the information, no moves have been made that will prove it, not even a single lead for her to trace back to its source.  
  
Thace is clever, and he is careful. She knows little more of his ring of traitors than when she began, but even so, she cannot call this wasted time. Over the course of their game, she has learned how his mind works, the way he thinks, and that is almost more useful, more dangerous to him than the alternative. It is her greatest tool in this venture.  
  
Now, they have slipped into silence, but his hand still trails over her side—a matter of habit, this practice. Never static, never repetitive, his touch has proved oddly inoffensive to her senses, as few tactilities ever can. He likes to touch her, she thinks. It is the look in his eyes that gives it away. For a brief moment, she lets their gazes meet. There is something hidden in the depths of his expression, some kind of wary kin to fondness. There is something of that kind in hers, as well. They are only ever in this for secrets and gain, but that does not mean they cannot enjoy the game while it lasts.  
  
While it lasts—because it _will not_ last. Her goals are never far from her mind.  
  
Reaching out again, she let the touch linger a while longer. There will come a time, she knows, someday soon, when this is all over. When he no longer lies in bed with her, but is instead held fast on a table deep within her labs, where bolts of magic will coax out his words as her druids extract the last of his secrets. ( _No—inaccurate. It will not be the druids. This is an interrogation she will want to oversee herself._ )  
  
But that time has not yet come. And who can say when it will? In the coming weeks, the coming months? How long can this game last? ( _Perhaps he is playing her, too, giving her just enough motivation to keep returning. After all, she is bound to learn something eventually._ )  
  
The situation cannot be rushed—she is all too aware of this. So, with the promises of _someday_ and _soon_ and _maybe in a different life,_ she will wait, biding her time, just for now. At some point soon, he will slip up. He cannot hide his secrets forever.  
  
And on that day, she will have it—the final piece, the certainty of answers at last and the satisfaction of a game well played. But until then, she and Thace will do as they have always done—dancing and daring, hinting and obscuring. Playing their little knowledge game.  
  
And if she finds herself oddly content with that, just for now? If she finds no inclination to hurry or press? Then that is no cause for alarm.  
  
It only means she is that much more determined to win.

**Author's Note:**

> "I'm kind of tempted to write more," I said. Well, I suppose this is as good a time as any to mention that I _am_ writing more. A currently-undetermined amount of chapters more, as a separate fic detailing the greater scope of this entire affair, including how it began, which I kind of hinted at here (they bonded over discussing psychological theory, and then Haggar got the brilliant idea to seduce him). Don't expect it to be posted in the very near future, but... eventually. What can I say? The idea won't leave me alone.


End file.
